I was introduced to San Francisco painter David Molesky's work a little while back by Greg Escalante. Through our correspondences I learned more about his complex intellect as well as the diverse nature of his work. Molesky is an avid traveler and adventurer, spending time exploring life and art throughout Europe and even taking on an apprenticeship with Norway's own living master, Odd Nerdrum. Though he pursues a variety of different themes or bodies of work, we'll concentrate on two of my personal favorites: narratives and wave paintings. Then we'll close it out with his latest forays: city scape paintings done entirely in the moment from various locales around San Francisco rooftops. And now without any further ado, the visual pursuits of David Molesky.

So David, please tell us a little about your background. Where did you grow up and what was that like?

I am a quarter Polish, a descendent of horse trainers and underground educators who came to NY to party in the 1930's, and ended up working in Irish-run coal mines in Pennsylvania.  Grandpa Molesky learned English with an Irish accent and later was a member of the Flying Tigers and became General MacArthur's radioman.  After the war he became a police officer moving up the ranks to Captain of Southeast Washington DC, a quadrant and a city that at the time had some of the highest national homicide rates in the country.  He married my grandmother who grew up on a plantation on the James River.  Her family had made a fortune smuggling goods past the Brits in the early 1700's, but the fortune was lost during the Depression.  Mom's side is French/German/Welsh farmers, and my grandfather is apparently related to Carl Jung.

I was born in DC and spent my first few years there.  I remember being fascinated with vertigo.  I would get dizzy at the top of the wooden steps at our house, the spins would take over my body in this completely mysterious way and I would go kerplopping down into a crying pile at the bottom -- only to do it again later to see if the view could have the same overwhelming and powerful effect.  My father and brother both have fear of heights (probably fear of the feeling of vertigo) where as with me it made me curious.  Within a year I was climbing trees and sneaking out onto the roof, which scared the shit out of Mom.

 I also lived in a NJ suburb of NYC for about 5 years before moving back to the DC area where I attended middle and high school.  It was great to be around the Smithsonian collections and the great NY collections.  I started painting at 14 years old.  We had a great art teacher in high school.  Sometimes he would start yelling at us and we knew that it wasn’t because of something we did but because he was so excited about painting.  I enjoyed that naive period in my work.  I painted about a hundred paintings; they were fast and exploratory with very little hold-up on self critiquing. It was reckless fearless youth.  We had a posse of painters and would head out after school into nature or into the city to paint from life.  Many of us are still working as artists today, in fact one is in my studio building and I will be in a show in DC next winter with another.

At what point did you realize that you were an artist and wanted to create?

Like many children I drew a lot.  But I took it seriously: working in series and turning a walk-in closet into my personal art studio.  I was making typical boy drawings then (weapons and destruction) and at 10 years old, I got into black and white photography.  Capturing images with technology was exciting, but I needed greater ability to manipulate the images with more effects so I started painting.  While attending Cal, I tried for a few months to quit painting, (thinking it was time to grow up and become a neurobiologist).  Every attempt made it clear that my identity is enmeshed with the process of painting, and neurobiology was downgraded to a hobby.

From what I understand, you're quite the traveler. Can you tell us some of your adventures? Perhaps a story or two that happened or what you might have learned from the road?

I have learned the most about life from times when I have almost died.  The first lesson is that it is unwise to waste energy on stress.  I could tell you the story about surviving the Indonesian pirate ship, where I was held hostage and threatened to be chopped up and thrown overboard but that one’s a bit long...  Once, I was in the Bahamas looking for an extinct sea urchin on a marine biology research trip (which I found on the violent leeward side of the island).  There were these huge underwater stacks of coral and I would swim to the bottom, where I would find dark caves and chimneys that reached back up to the surface.  A couple times I got lost in the darkness and was quickly running out of air.  I knew if I allowed the trigger of anxiety to begin I would waste the last bits of life force I had and most certainly die.  There was a choice: be cool and live or freak out and die.  The same philosophy has saved my butt numerous times, including the one on the pirate ship.

Also, I'm sure the readers will be as intrigued as I am to learn more about your trip to apprentice with Odd Nerdrum. How did that come about and what happened while you were there?

I knew that Odd Nerdrum has an on going process of taking on apprentices, I suggested to a Norwegian speaking painter friend that he apply and check it out first.  He stayed for 6 months and highly recommended I also go, so I sent Odd a letter with some photos of my paintings. I heard back almost immediately and planned to stay a month and a half, which turned into a year and a half. 

A lot happened while I was there.  One night while I was coming back from fishing in the light of a rising full moon with Odd's Estonian au pair, we thought we saw an elf.  It scared the baJesus out of us.  We ran like hell back up to the house and told Odd's wife.  She was not surprised and told us that when they had moved there some years back, the old folks in the area told them that there was a colony of little people in the nearby forest.  I really was not happy about seeing an elf, and was trying to figure out an alternative to what I saw.  I shared my story with Odd and others while he was drawing my portrait.  My other friends went outside to search with a flashlight and said they saw eyes looking back from the forest.  I was urged to go and speak to the eyes and make friends, but instead I went to the forest and yelled that I did not ever want to see an elf again!  Another time, Odd asked me what my favorite animal was.  I said owls and he nodded, adding that they are in-between angels and small people, but I don’t know if he heard me say Owl or Elf.

When you left Odd's studio and life up north and returned to the studio, what did you feel that you had taken away or learned from the experience?

I left Odd's close circle last year and spent a bit more time in Europe decompressing the kitsch dogmas and absorbing more of the old world.  The man is a great painter, but every painter must work with a process that compliments his personality.  The way Odd paints is perfect for him.   So I made my return to California and reformed my process without such a persuasive influence nearby.  Working with Odd I got a sense for the will power it takes to drive a good painting.  It drew courage in my heart to see him relentlessly battle and change a painting that was already outstanding.  I would tell him," Odd that is looking really good," and he would erupt from his studio chair grab his palette, and proudly state, " It shall be better!" while making big bold changes.  I miss that guy!

What do you feel pushes you to keep creating, to continue exploring new ideas and fields of thought?

This is certainly an interesting question that could be answered in a book.  I get a deep visceral satisfaction from applying volumes of paint upon a two dimensional surface.  And I explore new fields and thoughts to bring in new challenges. I want to trigger that mysterious visceral phenomenon of pleasure that happens in my core when I step back and find that I am making a focused experience on the two dimensional surface.

Your work tends to have a hypnotic effect on viewers, yet I've heard you speak about it in nothing short of erotic terms at length. Can you please elaborate or include the viewers in on the internal conversation there?

Hypnotic is nice.  The greatest thing I have ever seen (or not seen depending on how you look at it) was at the end of a dream.  After my eyes has zoomed across a vast body of water I came to see three 60-foot wolves dancing in large spirals and moving in and out of one another.  It was deeply hypnotic, feeding my entire body with massive spins that had me (I am sure) churning in bed like a smooth epileptic.  (do me a favor next time you hear that song sing : He’s a smooth epileptic….).  I think my paintings aspire to have the same affect as this vision.  I sometimes joke with friends that my goal is to make a painting that causes a slow orgasm when looked at, without being pornographic. 

When you begin a new piece, do you prepare sketches or studies, or is it a direct relationship with the actual painting only?

I enjoy changing my approach to paintings.  Usually it is beneficial to do some-kind of sketch before hand; if its big, I better do a sketch first.  But often I cut to the chase and indulge myself with oil paint immediately especially if it is available and the drawing becomes something I work out while moving the paint around.

How do you feel about what some perceive as a divide between the creation and fulfillment of creating the work, and the nature of the work as it exists in a gallery setting?

When a painting hangs in the sterile setting of a gallery, it doesn’t affect me in the same way as it does when I am in the heat of the moment creating it.  Still, the gallery is the standard way to share paintings with others and certainly has its place. It is also a test:  how can the artwork stand on its own in this sterile hospital environment of the gallery without being supported by its mother, the artist.  It’s like a bird that gets kicked out of the nest and has to fight for its own survival.  The painting better be so good that it doesn’t need the artist to explain it and stand up for it even in the face of danger (hard criticism).  The gallery setting does make paintings look more important.

And now for some fun: Imagine your dream scenario, your creative goal or fantastic fine art aspiration. Without having to give a thought to the financing or location or any logistics, what would that project be and where?

Hmm.  You know I would kind of like to live everywhere at once.  Maybe clone myself, so all my ideas could be fulfilled and all experiences could be absorbed.  The clones would re-coagulate into one figure periodically to have a massive information and experience swapping.  Not so realistic, but if I had enough money maybe it could be a reality!!!  Some of these clones would get married, some would become mad neuroscientists, some would try to go to Mars to become the first Martian plein-air painter and others would chase burning hill fires, maybe others would slip into top secret areas where weapons of mass destruction were being detonated.

But if I were confined to the limits of this one life and one body, I am already pretty happy and painting lots.  However, I suppose I would like to work even more and to use more material and would therefore need a bigger space and several assistants.  The assistants would help me get more of the easy but time-consuming work done, so I could personally attend to the more challenging tasks.   

And now, as we close, do you have any parting thoughts, any premium advice to leave with the readers?

Carpe Diem.  Find what gets your goose and get it before you get goosed.  Know your strengths, and find a way of working that is effortlessly flowing with your person.  Find a way to work more, you will probably have to make sacrifices and simplify the way you live, but if you really want to do this full time, it’s possible. 

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